


The Pedal's Down, My Eyes Are Closed

by Uglysweater



Series: No Control [1]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: M/M, a little dubcon?, both parties are willing and down to do the do, but are in currently different locations and cannot give consent to eachother u feel?, pynch - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 01:46:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3832477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uglysweater/pseuds/Uglysweater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know how you hear stories all the time about one twin knowing when something bad happens to the other? They can ~feel~ it? Its like that. Ronan somehow know when something is happening to thing's he brought from his dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pedal's Down, My Eyes Are Closed

The thing about Ronan’s Dream Things, is that they were his. They were from him. Products of his own conscious/subconscious exchange. Not in like a weird way. Ronan’s not about to start calling every random thing he wakes up with his fucking babies or something. You know how you hear stories all the time about one twin knowing mysteriously when something bad happened to the other twin. They could _feel_ it. Its like that. Ronan somehow knows when something is happening to things he’s brought from his dreams. He can feel it. Like he can tell when Gansey’s running low on gas in the Pig without looking at the gage now. Ronan knows when Matthew gets a bad test score back, he can feel it. 

He thinks it has something to do with intent. He doesn’t even remember all the different shit he’s accidentally yanked from his brain and he definitely doesn’t feel any echo from them. And he doesn’t feel anything from the shit cabeswater has just given him. Ronan only really feels something from the things he’s very purposely creates. He gets echos from the things he’s desired so desperately he created them out of thin air. Matthew, the Pig, his fathers renovated will; things that he’s needed. 

At least thats the only pattern Ronan’s seen. 

It’s been another fucking useless trip to the barns. No progress at all past some slight muscle twitches from his father’s creations. Ronan’s tired and frustrated at himself and this whole goddamn situation. He’s so frustrated and fucking tired that he thinks for a moment about letting his exhaustion take over during the drive home, passing out, and wrapping himself around a fucking tree. He thinks better of it. Mainly because he doesn’t want to total his father’s car. Somehow that feels to him like a victory for Declan. Fuck Declan. He gets in the BMW and searches where the nearest place to get coffee might be. Holding the phone in his hand Ronan feels a slight tingle in his fingers, almost like a chill but its not cold out. He drops the phone in his lap and rubs his hands together, fighting off the sensation. Its probably just his body reacting to how tired he feels. Like literally fucking shutting down from lack of sleep. 

Once the tingle is gone he pulls up maps again and sees a mcdonalds just a little out of his way. He starts the car and drives the half mile to the fast food wonderland. The neon lights are making his eyes hurt as he waits in the drive through line so he closes his eyes and rests his head in his hand. Ronan thinks about Adam’s advice to get the Barns ready for him and Matthew to live in. Then Ronan wouldn't have to make these long trips back to monmouth late at night. But, he supposes, he would have to wake up earlier to get to Aglionby. And mornings, are by definition, far worse than late nights. Living without Gansey pretending to sleep in the living room would be shit too. He needs Gansey. Plus he’d be farther from Adam too. 

“Ronan” Ronan jerks up and lets his hands fall away. He thought he heard something. The line has moved. He pulls forward and orders the largest coffee he can. He takes a long drink and shoves it in the cup holder. 

On the dark road, with nothing but his own headlights to illuminate the way he takes another sip. A drop of hot coffee drip out and falls onto his leg. “Fuck.” He mutters to himself and dabs at it with the receipt. He heat dissipates for a moment, then returns. It feels like its spreading outwards, soaking up into his dark jeans. He knows he didn't spill any more and when he looks down at his lap there isn't anything left but the first drop. The heat remains. If Ronan didn’t know any better he’d say it felt like a warm hand resting on high on his thigh. 

He thinks he hears his name whispered again and he jumps so bad he swerves the car. Ronan steadies the wheel and regains control. But as soon as he’s back in his lane he feels the heat on his leg drift closer to his inseam. Ronan hits the gas hard when he feels the hand slide up his leg further. And then its on his skin. 

Ronan closes his eyes and behind the shut lids he sees the word ‘manibus’ flash. In his own handwriting. The lotion. Adam’s hand lotion. Who is clearly not using it on his hands. 

Ronan swings the car over to the side of the road and turn it off. Adam Parrish is fucking jerking it, using the hand lotion Ronan gave him. Ronan would be proud that his friend is using something not only misaligned with its intended purpose, but for something as aberrant as dick touching, if it wasn’t going to actually destroy Ronan. 

He takes a slow, measured, breath to calm himself. But that unrelenting shithead Parrish squeezes his balls and Ronan feels the gentle pressure in his own. Adam takes the other hand, smooth with the motherfucking lotion to pet up his other thigh. Once, twice, three times until he brings the hand to his dick. Fuck, Ronan thinks. 

"Fuck" Ronan says, hisses it though his teeth. Adam uses his fingers first, teasing his dick awake. It's definitely not something Ronan's needs. He's fully alert. Adam's long, calluses, mechanics fingers stroke up and down the shaft. His other hand moves off his sack and goes somewhere Ronan can't quite feel, his stomach maybe. Adam wraps his whole hand around himself now.

Slow, but smooth Adam slides his hand up and down. He's never seen it, never quite crossed that boundary in the the gym locker room or at Monmouth with the bathroom door that doesn't close right, not with how he feels. But Ronan can almost visualize Adam's dick now. He can tell how long it is, he can tell the thickness beneath Adam's palm. Every once in a while Adam will add a quick twist of his wrist and Ronan can feel the other boy's breath hitch. 

"This is how Adam Parrish touches himself," Ronan thinks wildly. "This is how Adam Parrish likes to be touched when he allows himself to be touched." Ronan files this information for later. For, maybe nothing, for at least next time Ronan's alone and not in his fucking car on the side of the road. 

It's a very strange sensation feeling breath that isn't yours catch in your lungs. Adam's hand quickens and Ronan thinks he might have muttered something. The second hand returns to cup his balls again. Adam massages his sack and he tugs at his dick. Ronan whimpers. He thinks he might actually cry. It's so so so much but not enough. 

Another car passes the BMW, headlights swooping through the other car briefly. Ronans got one hand fisted by his side and the other is white knuckling it on the gearshift. Embarrassment floods through him, coupled with the same guilt he feels nearly every time he's caught looking at Adam. Adam doesn't know this is happening. He doesn't know Ronan's on the other side of town feeling every heated stroke. Ronan might feel it, might even drown himself in it, but he will not not not open his pants and touch himself. 

All his willpower flies out the window when he hears his name whimpered again. "Ronan" whispered in his ear. "Ronan" cut short with a soft moan. "Ronan Ronan Ronan" in Adam's voice. 

Ronan fumbles his pants open and his fly down. Already slick with beads of precome, he pulls himself out with a wine. He strokes his own length quickly, trying to keep time with Adam. As if they were doing this together. He wonders if Adam wishes they were doing this together. He wonders how many times. 

Adam's hand pulls away from his balls again and Ronan lets out a sob at the loss. Until he feels dull nails scratch at this thigh. The nails linger there for only a moment before moving up. Up to drag against Adam's abdominal, up to his chest. Then, without any fucking warning, Adam pinches his own nipple and fucking twists. 

Ronan comes with a shout. Adam flicks at his nipple again and Ronan feels aftershocks rock through him. He's still pulsing come down his leg, on his fucking car and Adam's still touching himself. Still pulling quickly, not knowing that Ronan needs a fucking breath. Adam picks up speed again but can't maintain a steady pace, too lost in the building sensation low in his stomach. All Ronan can do is grit his teeth and wait. It builds until it breaks and Adam's pleasure washes over him like a tidal wave. 

Finally done Ronan tries to catch his breath, gulping air in like he's greedy. "What the fuck, Parrish?!" He shouts to the empty car. 

When his heart has finally slowed down enough that he's not concerned about it actually exploding Ronan starts the car and speeds toward town. He passes by the exit that would take him to Monmouth.

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on tumblr. thanks to punkrocklynch for going through this and telling me everywhere I accidentally typed Ronab.


End file.
